I’m a pretty easy going guy.
I don’t tend to get too spooled-up over this-and-that (unless, of course, we’re talking about a ridiculous YouTube video by “Rock the Vote.”). But by and large, I’m not prone to temper tantrums, raising my voice, or spouting off with a long tirade of profanity laced emotional explosions. But even the most even-keeled (self professed anyway), level headed of us are bitten by the freak-out bug now and again.
My most notable “freak-out” occurred recently when I walked into the latrine following one of “those guys.”
You know the guy I’m talking about. He’s the one that believes that the entire stall is his crapping ground, and he has absolutely no regard for the poor schmuck who mistakingly walks up to the latrine post-devastation.
After walking in and having every bodily sense shut down in self-induced defense, I fled the latrine as fast as possible.
What’s a man to do in response? After all, there needs to be SOME latrine etiquette, doesn’t there?
Post an articulate and respectable written response, of course.
Dear Disgusting Pig Who Left This Mess:
If you are not able to clean up your disgusting mess in the future, please refrain from using this public restroom. You are not the only one who uses it, and no one else wants to deal with the horrible smell or sight of your child-like defecation. The fact that there was no toilet paper in the bowl, which was full of brown water and poop, leads me to believe that you are incapable of wiping yourself either. I’m sure you didn’t wash your hands when you were done, and you run the risk of infecting everyone else in the BN. If you are not able to clean up after yourself, then please do not use this bathroom again. If I catch anyone leaving a mess like this in the future, you will be cleaning it up with a toothbrush.
- CPT XXXXX (I would be happy to discuss with you if you wish)
Of course I didn’t leave CPT XXXXX at the bottom. I was happy to give my name for anyone who wanted to “hunt me down.” Reactions from my superiors were swift and varied. I got a few pats on the back, and a few kicks in the ass. After I got a call at home from an angry field grade, my wife pointed out the most obvious flaw of logic in my note. I may not have the authority to make someone “clean it up with a toothbrush,” as the perpetrator could have been a superior, or a civilian.
I suppose we all have our moments of temporary blind rage. Perhaps I should have saved mine for a more appropriate, or more significant moment, but sometimes you just gotta’ tell it like it is.
A blind rage bedtime story for you……
A little back story…..I live in downtown Indianapolis in a “revitalized” neighborhood that is surrounded by some not so nice neighborhoods. Basically it is a big shining beacon of come steal my shit. I have had my car broken into, my garage broken into, my garage partially destroyed by a stolen SUV (seriously), my bike stolen, etc.etc.
So a couple summers ago, I had my detached garage alarmed. I had been working a lot of long hours. When I got home that night I was so tired I just took my clothes off & crawled in bed (remember that for later cause it makes the story)
About 4am, my alarm starts going off. My dog & I went downstairs to investigate. Nobody was in the house & I could see that the utility door to the garage is closed. I turned the alarm off & went outside (with my 85lb. dog to check out the yard). I didn’t find anything. I went back inside assuming that it was a false alarm. As I’m getting ready to call the alarm company & figure out WTF is going on, the burglar just walks out of my back garage door. I basically lost it & ran out the door after him (shutting the big dog in the house like the dumbass that I am).
I would say that it’s about 35 feet from my back door to my garage & another 10 to my fence. By the time the little crackhead made it to the fence I was right up his ass. He jumped the fence; I jumped the fence, took a couple of strides & caught my foot in a pot hole. I went flying & must have landed really weird because the little shit actually stopped, turned around & had a pretty horrified look on his face. I just remember untangling my legs, jumping up & running after him again. I believe I was screaming something about kicking his ass. Anyway I think I made it a couple minutes before I realized I hurt something. He got away.
The best part about all this, I was sleeping in just my underwear & I threw a tshirt on when the alarm went off. So… I was chasing a burglar in downtown Indy in a tshirt & panties! The cops were apparently not amused with me at all. When they asked what I would have done with him if I caught him I replied that I would have dragged his ass back in my yard & beat the shit out of him. I figured as long as he was on my property it was still self defense.
Anyway I messed my hip up pretty badly. I finally sucked it up and had surgery to fix it this past week. So I am sitting at home on bed rest telling you yahoos funny stories. I am now known as the neighborhood crazy lady and nobody messes with my stuff anymore. And yes, next time I will just shoot the burglar.
AO, every woman out there is proud of ya. If you say you are also premenopausal or pmsing when the police arrive and ask what happened, they’ll just look you in the eye and say, “Oh, yeah, I get it, Ma’am. No problem.” They might even hire you a couple days a month to help round up the really bad guys, you know, child molesters and other pervs who would never even think of arguing with a premenopausal woman. Good or bad, they all had moms at some point. They know. So you go, girl. And Barrett, any mom out there worth her salt, understands your frustration. Why do you think it’s always the bathroom we moms use for punishment. hehehe
Back in Basic, I had the misfortune to be close alphabetically to a real first-class shitbird. He wound up being my assigned battle buddy, and before getting a failure-to-adapt, managed to make all our lives miserable. After one particularly bad platoon smoke session, he took protective refuge in the Drill Sergeant’s office downstairs, and the guys took out their anger on his gear. Only problem….he was my bunkmate too, and the guys in Dirty Third weren’t that bright, so they destroyed my wall locker, stomped in my painstakingly polished boots, tore up my PTs, tossed my mattress, the whole bit. When I got done taking the dirtbag downstairs, and came back, I was livid. Previously, I was pretty quiet (my motto was that my goal was to finish Basic without the DIs knowing my name). I grabbed the nearest poor bastard by the neck and started screaming, demanding to know who did it. I don’t know what I said or what I did, but I seem to have scared the shit out of the whole platoon (and I’m not that intimidating of a figure). The PG was repolishing my boots, there was a crew slapping my gear back together and a few more running a load of my recently muddied uniforms through the laundry within minutes.
My Bravo team leader came up to me when I snapped out of it and said “Dude…..you ROARED! WTF was that? How do you DO that?”
Recently had a Soldier come into my office and stated that he was “Seeing things.” After asking a few questions (with his chain of command present), his Platoon Sergeant smelled his BS and told him to quit lying to me and to tell the truth. This stellar example of the American serviceman then admitted that he was faking it, that he was just wanting to get out our upcoming training event and eventual deployment back to Iraq. I then lost my mind on this Soldier, telling him that he had betrayed his fellow Soldiers and that he was a disgrace for betrying his promise to his country “to Support and Defend the Constitution of the United States.” Eloquent, but effective, as I found out later the “kid” (he’s actually older than me, technically) had cried his eyes out upon being tossed out of my office.